


Red Hot Vengeance

by dovingbird



Series: One Simple Change [4]
Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: Angst, F/M, Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-25
Updated: 2014-01-25
Packaged: 2018-01-09 22:18:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1151448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dovingbird/pseuds/dovingbird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'"I think you and me need to put on a show," he drawled, approaching her. "'Cuz if she's not gonna take me back, that's not my fault."' Part of my "One Simple Change" series, where each story was written week-to-week as the S11 episodes premiered. AU in that Hannah and Phil broke up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Red Hot Vengeance

It still didn't feel real.  
  
It didn't feel real when he walked out the door.  
  
It didn't feel real when they ate dinner at the opposite sides of the kitchen island that night.  
  
It didn't feel real when they gathered together for their vocal assignments and selections that week.  
  
By far, though, the most surreal of it all was when she heard those fateful words: "Phil, Elise, I want you together again."  
  
Sheet music was passed out, but her hand was trembling when she took her copy. She stared blindly at it. "Somebody That I Used To Know." Oh, she knew that song. She glanced up at Phil's rigid profile. She knew it all too well.  
  
The rest of the meeting began to bleed together, just voices making sounds that she didn't even understand, just Hollie touching her arm to see if she was okay, just meeting Phil's grave gaze across the room when their rehearsal time was set.  
  
Somewhere up there, according to Colton, was a God. She was pretty sure right now that if that was true, God really really hated her.  
  
She'd wanted to grab him after that, to tell him this wasn't her idea, to make him say something that made her feel like he wasn't going to keep treating her like a piece of shit forever, but the moment was gone. He was the first out of the room. No time to chat. No time to look. No time to do anything. Just time to leave.  
  
Elise drifted through the building in a fog. All she knew, all she understood, was that somewhere along the way she'd screwed up what was possibly the most important friendship to her in this entire competition.  
  
Her heart kicked up a notch. No, not just a friendship, not anymore.  
  
For the first time in her life, she found it almost impossible to admit that she had chemistry with someone. Typically it wasn't supposed to be a big deal or anything, was it? Your cells just cried out for someone else's cells. That was how chemistry worked. You couldn't explain it. It was just some weird manipulation of hormones and pheromones that left you stirring and hot and bothered around someone and you had no idea why.  
  
That was how it was with her and Phil. She realized that now. From the day that she, Colton, and Phil were thrown into a group and told to go kick the shit out of a Fleetwood Mac medley, she'd felt that chemistry, but God, she'd thought it was all  _musical._ Their voices _fit._ Anyone could see that. The three of them all had a great time rehearsing, performing, all of it, and they pal'd around like a bunch of big dorks when Heejun wasn't around to monopolize Phil's time.  
  
She'd thought that night about how she wished she could get to know Phil better. And then Heejun had been eliminated the next day.  
  
She still felt a little guilty about that, truth be told.  
  
But ever since then, ever since she'd held him while he cried, ever since he'd stared at her in desperation the night she'd nearly been eliminated, ever since all of that...things had changed. Her body was aware of him. She felt a certain thrill when they locked eyes and he gave her a lazy smile.  
  
At the time, sleeping with him had seemed to be the best idea. He was heartbroken from his girl leaving him. He needed some sort of reminder that he was masculine and loveable. He _needed_ her. And she'd wanted to give him that.  
  
Now she realized that it was the most ridiculous idea she'd ever had.  
  
She caught him that afternoon, lingering outside their rehearsal room ten minutes before schedule. He was leaning back against the wall, one hand tucked into his pocket, the other cupping his cell phone, and he was scowling. That scowl was enough to make her want to turn and walk away, but no, they had to confront this sooner or later. It might as well be sooner.  
  
"More bad news?" she asked.  
  
He jerked his head up, eyes widening in surprise before they shrank back down to slits. "What do you care?"  
  
Elise clenched her teeth together to forestall her immediate impulse to rip him to pieces with her words. That wouldn't help either of them. And Goddammit, but she wasn't going to let this friendship go that easily. "You're my friend," she murmured. "If you're hurting, I kind of care about that, you know?"  
  
He stared at her for a long, silent moment before he sighed and flipped his cell phone shut, studying it. "She won't take me back."  
  
Her heart skipped a beat. "Did you tell her about-"  
  
"Last night? Are you crazy?" He deposited the phone back in his pocket with a growl. "No, she ain't ever gonna hear about that. She'd flip her shit."  
  
Most women would. Hell, Elise _had_ before. Guilt pricked at her with bloodthirsty little claws. "So she's just not...?"  
  
Phil shook his head. "She's at that angry phase now. I'm hearing a lot of bullshit."  
  
"Like what?"  
  
"Like I planned this, like I always look at other girls, shit like that." His headshake went a little faster. "Kinda makes me wonder if I want her back in the first place."  
  
She considered, trying to choose her words carefully. "...you said last night that you...wanted to marry her."  
  
He was silent.  
  
"You've been with her for three years, Phil. You can't just throw that away."  
  
"Yeah, but if she don't want me back...what's the point in trying?"  
  
"She _does_ want you back."  
  
"How d'you know?"  
  
"Because you're you. There's no way anyone wouldn't want you back."  
  
Those words, she realized in hindsight, were far more intimate than she'd intended. But maybe it was okay. Now he was actually looking at her.  
  
Neither of them looked away. Her breath caught in her throat, just a little hitch, and it made Phil's eyes jerk down to her lips before he looked away and cleared his throat.  
  
"You know what?"  
  
"W-what?"  
  
"I didn't wanna say it, but...I'm damn pissed at her." His voice dropped into a rough growl. "I really am. She just...I can't believe her."  
  
Elise nodded. She tried to get them back on equal footing again instead of acting like a teenager. "You've got every right to be mad. She should know you better than that-"  
  
"I want her to know I'm mad," he interjected.  
  
This was far more dangerous territory. Her eyes widened. "You haven't told her?"  
  
He shook his head. "She'd just use that against me."  
  
Elise was starting to wonder just what kind of woman this Hannah was. If they'd been together for three years, she had to be amazing, right? Was all of this stuff coming out of Phil's mouth a product of his anger? Or was she actually an unhealthy, manipulative bitch? "So...what are you going to do about it, then?"  
  
He looked at her. He tugged rolled-up sheet music out of his baggy pocket and waved it toward her. "You looked at this yet?"  
  
 _Shit._  
  
"I think you and me need to put on a show," he drawled, approaching her. "'Cuz if she's not gonna take me back, that's not my fault."  
  
"Phil, that'll...rip her apart."  
  
"Yeah?" He tilted his head to the side and tapped his chest. "How d'you think I feel?"  
  
This was a bad idea. No, this was the worst idea. Ever. But then he reached out, took her hand, and began to softly sing. "Now and then I think of when we were together, like when you said you were so happy you could die." His voice was shaky, not quite confident in the melody yet, but the deepness of his voice was just enough to make chillbumps explode all up and down her arms.  
  
It was the worst idea ever. But when he looked at her like that, she couldn't say no.  
  
~~~~~~  
  
The second her feet touched that stage, she was almost overwhelmed in the familiar prickle of nerves. Nervous about the crowd? About the cameras? No.  
  
She was nervous because of this fucking game that she was playing.  
  
Phil approached the other mic, parallel to her own, and looked at her. They locked eyes. He gave her a nod.  
  
This was fucked up. It was so fucked up. She felt like the worst kind of woman in the world. Somewhere out there was a girl, probably just barely a young woman herself, that was about to get her heart absolutely run over. And then that truck was going to back up and run over it all over again.  
  
Their cue came. The marimba clicked away cheerfully.  
  
She pulled on her mask of happy, of performance, of playfulness, and let the music take her over.  
  
She swayed. She tapped her foot. She stared at Phil as he sang, scarcely able to take her eyes off of him.  
  
He was smiling. God, he was enjoying this, wasn't he?  
  
Was she supposed to enjoy it just as much?  
  
She wrapped her hand around the mic, holding it so tightly that her knuckles began turning white.  
  
In that moment, she saw Phil's cynicism. She saw his roughness. She saw his heartbreak. She grabbed hold of it and poured it into her voice. "You didn't have to cut me off, make it like it never happened and that we were nothing. And I don't even need your love, but you treat me like a stranger and that feels so rough." She glanced toward Phil.  
  
The tension that she was so used to seeing him carry when he sang was sinking out of him. She wondered how much of that tension had all along been from Hannah. She couldn't tell. Maybe now she never would.  
  
"You didn't have to stoop so low," he replied, leading their call-and-answer, their sickening dance of mockery.  
  
And he. Was. Enjoying it.  
  
The problem with Phil was that he had such an addicting spirit. Even if you didn't want to go along with something, even if you were just doing it to make him feel better, you inevitably started enjoying it. You walked right into a trap that he might or might not have intentionally set.  
  
She accused him of screwing her over. He smirked and looked away, nodding his head thoughtfully. There wasn't any question who he was thinking of. Her face filled Elise's mind's eye. She'd seen Hannah in the audience before. She'd seen her.  
  
Was that supposed to make this harder?  
  
They approached each other. He rubbed his chin, trying to hide that smile that make her palms ache with a need to touch him. His movements were smooth, fluid, languid, like he really didn't give a shit, like he didn't care, like he wasn't trying to get back at the woman who destroyed him in one fell swoop just days ago.  
  
How long could he do this before he suffocated on his own anger?  
  
By this time, Elise was riding that wave of energy. She was performing. She was creating. It was so fucking addicting that she knew she'd never need to do another drug as long as she lived. She was this character now, this heartbroken woman raging against her ex-boyfriend.  
  
The problem with characters was that sometimes they took you over.  
  
Phil's eyes danced down her long legs, gleaming in appreciation, and sweat broke across Elise's forehead. She looked away and stared at the audience as she sang, but his eyes were still there. She could _feel_ them.  
  
The switch flipped in her brain. With one blink of his thick eyelashes, he shoved that switch skyward, the one that was still conscious of regret, the one that registered that she was playing games she wanted no part of. That was terminated. Now all she felt was the sharp buzzing of her limbs.  
  
Suddenly her hips took on a more natural sway. It was more primal, like the Rites of Spring, like her body was keening for that exact thing that Phil's eyes had promised. She had a feeling that he knew it, too. The music curved her body toward his and tickled across her skin.  
  
She met his eyes. He grinned.  
  
Overwhelming. That's what it was. Whatever energy was in this music, it wanted to consume her and corrupt her, and Goddamn, but that scared her.  
  
She twisted away, shoulder-to-shoulder, but every time that her bare arm brushed against the fabric of his shirt she felt every hair on her body stand skyward. Her voice was getting breathier. She could barely sway in time to the tempo.  
  
This wasn't wrong anymore. This was exactly what she wanted.  
  
She reached out. She touched her fingertips to his sleeve, trying to be soft, trying to be completely undetectable, but he glanced over his shoulder in surprise. She prepared to be humiliated by the combined surprise and disgust in his eyes.  
  
She waited.  
  
It never came.  
  
No, what was there was even more terrifying. There was a heat in his gaze, and it wanted to inflame her.  
  
His lips quirked into a secret smile. He knew. He _knew._  
  
She had no idea how she managed to finish the damn song, but she must've from the overwhelming applause and screams the two received. She felt like she was in another world, a world where her body was trembling and aching in desire that she couldn't even begin to understand.  
  
The lights fell and left only their silhouettes. She turned and met his eyes. She wasn't breathing. She didn't think he was either.  
  
"Great job," she managed to crack out.  
  
He didn't respond. He only stared.  
  
She stared for a moment longer before she dipped her head and scurried backstage. Her heart was hammering. Her skin was aching. She felt like her entire being was throbbing in desperation.  
  
She handed her microphone off and sped away as quickly as she could. She couldn't deal with this right now. She hated it. She felt like some disgusting teenaged girl who got seduced over a song and who couldn't control her urges. This was bullshit. Complete and utter bullshit.  
  
She ducked into a dark nook and wrapped her arms tightly around herself, trying to ignore the fact that wardrobe needed her immediately. She had to hide.  
  
Footsteps. Elise gasped and turned her head just in time for hands to rake through her hair and to pull her into a crushing kiss.  
  
Phil slammed her against the wall and devoured her lips desperately, like a hungry man in a famine. And God help her, but she answered in kind, and she gave as good as she fucking got. She grabbed at his shirt and twisted him around until she was the aggressor and he was the one pinned. It was her who was sucking his groans into her body like a vampire, not the other way around.  
  
They broke apart just as frantically as they had come together, panting and exhausted. Her legs wanted to collapse. She held on as strongly as she could.  
  
"That..."  
  
"Yeah..."  
  
Phil shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. "...I..."  
  
Elise waited, eyes wide, fingers touching her swollen lips in curiosity and fascination.  
  
"...I think she got the message."


End file.
